The 1967 Red Sox part 2: 'It's pandemonium on the field.'

Greg Sullivan

Friday

Sep 28, 2007 at 12:01 AMSep 28, 2007 at 1:26 PM

“It's pandemonium on the field.” - Red Sox broadcaster Ned Martin.

There was no army of security lining the perimeter of field at Fenway Park. No mounted police. But judging the way the fans poured out of the grandstand and bleachers after the Red Sox beat the Twins on Oct. 1, 1967, nothing was going to stop them anyway.

When Rico Petrocelli corralled Rich Rollins’ weak pop fly for the final out, he hugged third baseman Dalton Jones, and the two of them headed for the pitcher’s mound to join more teammates around pitcher Jim Lonborg.

Within a few seconds, the celebration involved more - far more - than the guys in the home uniforms. Fans, starved from a half-decade of incompetence and drunk with the success of the Impossible Dream Red Sox, started to cover the field. It didn’t matter that the pennant had not been clinched. California still needed to beat Detroit in the second game of a double-header (Detroit had won the opener) to avoid a one-game playoff for the American League pennant. But the Twins had been vanquished, and Red Sox fans, as if armed with foreknowledge of an Angels’ Game 2 win, were determined to celebrate as never before.

“They came out so fast, from all parts of the field,” Petrocelli said.
Mike Andrews didn’t get the start at second base that day, something that rankled him a bit. But when Jerry Adair got spiked late in the game, Andrews got his chance and turned a ninth-inning double play to help finish off the Twins.

When Petrocelli caught the Rollins’ looper, Andrews made a bee line for the mound.
“I ran in and picked up Jim Lonborg,” he said. “The next thing I knew, I’m hanging onto him. Then the next thing we knew, the field was swamped. We were working our way toward what we thought was the dugout. We were pushed down toward tarp alley.”

Durfee High grad Russ Gibson, the starting catcher who had been lifted for a pinch-hitter in the sixth inning, was one of the smart Sox. He charged from the dugout and joined the celebration at the mound, evaluated the situation, and did a 180.

“I ran out there. All hell was breaking loose, and we felt we should just leave (Lonborg) out there” he said. “It was a mad house. It was one pat on the back and back to the dugout.”

While concern for injury to people and property prompts team to secure their fields and stadiums from storming fans, The Impossible Dreamers don’t recall the ‘67 revelers as a crazy mob. They were just fans being fanatic.

“Jubilation,” Petrocelli said. “The fans running on the field - you could see in their eyes the joy and excitement of a team going to the World Series. That team stole the hearts of the fans.”

Lonborg wasn’t just at Ground Zero of the celebration. He was Ground Zero.
“It was awesome,” he said. “I think Mike was the first to get to me. We were all jumping and hugging. I looked around, and there were a few fans. The other guys had the sense to get off the field and into the clubhouse.

“For some reason, I stayed out there. There were hundreds of people celebrating at the moment. All of a sudden, I wasn’t going where I wanted. Thank God a couple of police officers extricated me. My hat was gone. My uniform was still there.”

Andrews said when he watches video of the pandemonium, he at first sees himself clearly. Then he sees just his head. Then he disappears amid the mass of humanity.

“But it’s not like today where so many things can happen,” he said. “They were fun-loving fans. They wanted to touch Jim, and I’m in the way. But I didn’t let him go. I knew where my bread was buttered.”

Petrocelli, who now lives in Nashua, N.H. and whose book “Rico Petrocelli: Tales of the Impossible Dream Red Sox” was published this year, said his plan was to give Lonborg the baseball at the mound. He quickly realized that wasn’t going to work. His priorities became holding onto the ball, and glove and his uniform.

“I tried to hold onto my hat,” he said. “I was pressing so hard, it must have made an indentation on my head. But someone came through and swiped it.”

While Petrocelli has never again seen or even heard of his pilfered cap, Lonborg has.
“I did come across somebody who had gotten my hat,” he said. “I asked about it, not pushing the issue. I felt like they felt they would keep it as a family heirloom. So I was fine with that. It’s great to think somebody’s thinking so much of it. The stories they’ll be able to tell will be well worth their time and will keep the legend going.”

While the Sox were taken by surprise by their fans’ reaction to the win over Minnesota, Gibson said they had gotten a preview of what their fans were capable of.

“It reminds me of when we got back from the road trip where we won 10 in a row,” he said. “The fans were out at the airport. They were tipping the bus. We were saying, ‘Let’s throw Conig out to them. Let’s throw Yaz out.’ Then the rest of us can go.”

“It was unbelievable, those people after we won it. Then we had to sit in the clubhouse listening.”

In the most nerve-wracking part of the whole day, the Sox, after celebrating at half speed (no champagne), huddled around a radio to listen to Game 2 of the Angels-Tigers doubleheader in Detroit. The Tigers of Norm Cash, Al Kaline, Mickey Lolich and Denny McLain, had won the opener 6-4, but the Angels jumped ahead in the second game. And they stayed ahead, winning 8-5.

“Every time the Tigers made an out, we cheered,” said Petrocelli. “Then Angels would score a run, and we’d think it was us. The final out, we jumped up, hugging, opening champagne. Corks were popping.”

The game ended when Detroit’s Dick McAuliffe grounded into a 4-6-3 double play. McAuliffe had hit into one double play previously in 1967.

“That’s destiny,” Andrews said.

The Angels had a great double play combination in second baseman Bobby Knoop and shortstop Jim Fregosi, so when McAuliffe grounded to second, the Sox enjoyed the exquisite flavor of anticipation.

“Dick McAuliffe didn’t hit into too many double plays. And he could hit the home run,” Petrocelli said. “Then the announcer said, ‘There’s a ground ball to second. It might be a double play.’ Boom. It was over.”

Gibson later learned of a contribution from a then future Red Sox catcher, Tom Satriano. A member of the Angels in 1967, Satriano, when he was on second base, was stealing catcher Bill Freehan’s and relaying them to the batter. Gibson said that information led to three California runs.

With the Twins and Tigers vanquished, the Red Sox still faced a considerable challenge: getting home.

Already ecstatic with the win over the Twins, Boston fans were delirious when Detroit lost. The streets around Fenway Park were electric. And crowded.

“We couldn’t get out of the park,” Andrews said. “Kenmore Square was gridlock. Finally they took our cars, I think it was to Landsdowne Street, and we went out through the left field wall hours after the game.”

Many hours, Gibson recalled. After the clubhouse celebration, the Sox went up to owner Tom Yawkey’s office, where the wives had been secured.

“We were in Mr. Yawkey’s office for two or three hours,” Gibson said. “By now, it was midnight, and there were still thousands of people standing out there. It was really a thrill.”

One key team member refused to be trapped inside Fenway. Lonborg lived near the park, and his roommate, Neil McNearney, owned Smokey Joe’s, a popular establishment in the neighborhood.

“He was having a private party in a back room,” Lonborg said. “I sneaked out of the park and walked over.”

(In one of the most overlooked performances in World Series history, Longborg won two games in the World Series against the heavily favored St. Louis Cardinals, throwing a one-hitter in Game 2 and a three-hitter in Game 5 to send the series back to Fenway. Pitching on two games rest in Game 7, Lonborg and the Red Sox lost to series MVP Bob Gibson, who beat Boston three times.)